Gorgeous Nightmare
by Sunflaash
Summary: Marik is running from a painful past and starting over fresh with only 120 dollars and a filled backpack. Where he's going, he knows no one. He has no friends, no family...until he meets Bakura. Will Marik's past catch up with him or will he find freedom? Can he trust Bakura, or is he truly alone? Thiefshipping. This is AU, quite clearly. Lemons will be included. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

The man in front of him could be called many things, and truly many names could suit him, but to the boy on the floor, he was simply "dad." Marik Ishtar sat on the floor of his bedroom, in front of the man known as dad, and held his cheek, a bruise already forming on the tender, tear-stained skin. Mr. Ishtar glared down at him, bottle of whiskey held firmly between his fingers, making his knuckles white.

"If it's not what it looks like…" the words were slurred, coming from his dad's mouth, and he seemed to lose his train of thought half way through. "If it's not what it looked like then what the hell was it, Marik?"

"I was just…"

"You were just what?! You had that boy's dick in your mouth! Please tell me how it wasn't what it looked like!"

"Dad, please! I—"

"I'm not your father, not anymore. No son of mine is going to decide to be gay."

"Dad, it's not like that! I didn't decide—"

Mr. Ishtar swung at Marik once more, this time with a half empty bottle of whisky. Marik dodged and grabbed it.

"Stop!"

Mr. Ishtar jumped at Marik again and Marik instinctively swung, the bottle connecting square with his temple and exploding in a shower of glass shards and blood. Mr. Ishtar stumbled backward a few steps, back connecting with the stair railing.

Marik saw everything that happened next in slow motion. He watched as his dad fell over the railing, legs flying over his head in an almost comic manner as he fell two stories below. Marik heard a sickening crack and ran from his spot on the floor to peer over the edge.

"Dad…" Marik bolted down the stairs and ran to his side. His father wasn't moving, eyes fixed in a dead stare at the ceiling, arms and legs splayed at unnatural angles, head cracked in more than one location now, way more than the whisky bottle could've ever aspired to achieve. "Dad!" His neck was broken, and Marik knew in his heart that he was dead. He'd killed his father. He'd killed his father, but oddly enough, it felt as though there were no tears left to fall down his already tear streaked face. Only an hour ago, Mr. Ishtar had walked in on Marik with a mouth full of Duke Devlin. He'd come over to finish a project but within the first twenty minutes, it was pretty clear that wouldn't be happening. This was the first time, but Marik had known he was gay since seventh grade.

Marik ran back up the stairs and crossed the threshold to his room. He didn't have much time, so he found a small duffle bag and threw everything he could manage inside. His hands rested on one last item. It was a picture of his father, his sister Ishizu, and himself last Christmas. He put it back down.

He didn't have a family anymore, didn't need them.

Grabbing his bag, he ran across the hall to his father's room and found his wallet. Opening it, he found 20 dollars in cash. He knew his father had a secret stash under his bed, and since his father wouldn't need it anymore, it was Marik's. Marik took the additional $100 and pocketed it, along with the first 20 he'd found. Pulling on a coat, he ran outside. Ishizu would probably be home soon.

Marik didn't stop running, despite the burning in his lungs, until he reached the train station. Marik bought a ticket to as far away as he could afford, one way, and got on the train. He didn't know where he'd go, but he was going.

Hours later, Marik arrived in a small, quiet town. After getting off the train, he decided to try and walk until he found a place he could stay for the night. He hadn't thought this through carefully enough, and was terrified. He put on a tough face and continued on his way. Marik walked for an hour before he grew tired and needed to sit. Finding an abandoned alley far enough from the street, Marik sat down, back to the cold brick, and pulled his jacket around him tighter. Before he could stop himself, he'd drifted into a peaceful slumber.

When he awoke, he could feel someone's eyes on him. Instantly alert, Marik's eyes shot open and fixed upon the pale figure standing above him, white hair framing his face and sticking out at odd angles. His dark eyes were fixed on Marik and the stranger's lips pulled into a smirk.

"Excuse me, but I feel as though you're missing something," the stranger spoke in a thick British accent, holding a wad of crumpled bills up in his hand. It was the leftover money Marik had taken from his dad.

"Hey!"

The stranger with the white hair and intriguing smirk pocketed the bills and took a step closer to Marik.

"Can you explain to me why you're sleeping against the door to my apartment?"

"I'm not…" Marik looked and realized that he was in fact sleeping against a door. He'd fallen to the side in his sleep. Marik sat up slowly.

"Thank you, but that still doesn't tell me anything." The stranger looked to be about Marik's age, and in all honesty, Marik found him stunning.

"I…I just needed to sit down. I guess I must've fallen asleep on accident…"

"Why in the bloody hell did you choose to sit down in an alley way? Can't you find some place else? And if you're so bloody tired, why don't you just go home and sleep?"

Marik winced slightly, looking away. "I don't have one of those anymore."

"Oh?"

"I…I did something bad, so now I'm on the run…I guess."

"And why are you deciding it's safe to tell me about this? How do you know I won't call the cops because of the so called bad something that you did?" The stranger smirked.

"I'm not the one who stole money from a boy on the street," Marik returned the smirk.

"Touché. What's your name?"

"Marik."

"Bakura. You truly have nowhere you can stay?"

"Nowhere…I don't even really know what town I'm in."

"You can come inside and stay with me for a while…I guess."

"Thank you, Bakura," Marik said, attempting to stand. His right foot was asleep so he stumbled forward, landing on Bakura. Reflexively, Bakura caught him. Both laughed quietly, looking at each other.

"You walk about as naturally as an amputee," Bakura commented.

"Shut up, at least I don't look like a fluffy white kitty," Marik offered a joke back.

"Can you walk now?" Bakura asked, watching Marik kick his foot out repeatedly to try and regain feeling.

"Yes…I think so."

"Good, just get inside." Bakura shoved him off and toward the door of the apartment.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Marik sat on the couch and stared ahead at the wall. Unlike most homes he'd ever entered, this one was barren of photographs or other mementos that suggested the owner held any sort of personal relationships with other people. The walls were completely barren, home to only the gray paint and white trim.

"So, I'm assuming you're cold," Bakura said leaning against the back of the couch, voice coming from behind Marik and startling him.

"What?"

"You're holding yourself, plus you're shaking. I'm assuming it's because you're cold."

"Oh…yes…I guess so," Marik said, turning in his seat so he could look at his host. Bakura went to a small closet in the hallway and pulled out a blanket, tossing it at his guest. Marik nodded a "thank you" to him and wrapped the fleece around his shoulders.

"Hungry too? Thirsty?" Bakura stood with his arms crossed.

"A little…you really don't have to go to any trouble to get me anything though."

"Well that's good, because I wasn't going to. The kitchen's that way," Bakura sat on the couch next to Marik and pointed behind them. Marik stood up and turned, going to the kitchen.

"Do you…um…want anything?"

"A bloody blow job."

"What?" Marik asked, not certain he heard right.

"Oh, nothing," Bakura smirked to himself, arms still crossed over his chest.

"Right…" Marik walked into the kitchen, shooting a look over his shoulder and shaking his head, dismissing it as a joke.

The kitchen was small and slightly cluttered, a stack of mail on the counter next to the microwave, a sink full of dishes and a calendar that had likely fallen off the wall was draped over the microwave. Marik walked over to the fridge and opened it, finding that it was relatively full. Rummaging through the contents, Marik settled on some leftover Chinese food and a can of Sprite. Marik walked back to the living room and sat next to Bakura, digging in. Bakura watched him quietly. After a few moments, Marik became self conscious and looked up at Bakura. "Do you want some? You said you didn't want anything…"

Bakura shook his head and smirked. "No Marik, thank you though. I'm waiting for you to finish stuffing your face so I can talk to you."

"Oh," Marik said, mouth full of noodles. He put the box on the coffee tabled and turned to look at him. "About what?"

"I'm curious as to what you did. You said it was 'something terrible,' and I'm just curious as to what that something might be."

Marik froze for a moment, staring at the boy he'd barely known for an hour. Was it really safe to tell him why he was running? Then again, Bakura was the only person he'd met so far…in his new life. Now that he'd decided to start over fresh, Bakura was really the only person he had. Depending on how he reacted to Marik's story, he could be good company. Marik decided to share.

"I…killed my dad on accident," Marik said, looking closely at Bakura to judge his reaction. After a moment, Bakura started laughing loudly.

"How in the hell do you kill someone on accident?" Bakura said through his laughter. Marik glared slightly.

"Okay, you want the whole story?" Once again, Marik was prepared to judge Bakura's reaction.

"Yes, Marik. Yes I do," Bakura smiled devilishly and leaned back on the couch, waiting patiently for Marik's tale.

"Okay…my dad walked in on me…giving another guy a blow job…and he my dad was drunk and he got mad at me and he went to hit me with his whisky bottle so I took it and I may have accidentally hit him with it and then he fell down a two story high flight of stairs. Then I stole his money and left. And then you stole my money. And here we are."

Bakura sat up slightly, looking at the anxious Marik. "That's what happened?"

"Yes."

"He got mad at you for sucking a guy's dick?"

"Yes…"

"Oh…then in that case, I'd say he deserved to die."

"Really?"

"Yeah…know what you should've told him?" Bakura asked grinning darkly at his new companion.

"What?"

"'Don't knock it til you try it.'" Bakura roared with laughter again, but this time Marik joined him.

"So…you know all about me…I don't know anything about you," Marik said, growing more comfortable around his new—and only—friend. Bakura stretched, rather like a cat, and looked at him with mysterious eyes.

"Are you saying you would _like _to know more about me?"

"Yes…"

Bakura was watching him, grinning mischievously. "What you need to know right now is that my name is Bakura. I'm an orphan, like you are now I guess. I like to steal things. Hence why I took your money." Bakura's grin grew wider and his eyes gained more mystery. "I suspect there will be plenty of time for you to learn the rest." Marik blushed, looking away.

"Yes…probably…"

From the church on the corner, a tolling began, starting in the bell tower and sweeping through every home and business in the area, letting the inhabitants of the sleepy town know that it was now midnight.

Bakura stood, looking at the beautiful tanned boy on his sofa. "I still haven't given you a tour. Come." Marik stood and Bakura grabbed hold of his wrist, pulling him down the hall. "Okay, that's the bathroom, that's the laundry room, and this is the bedroom. I only have one. Sorry. Hope that won't…bother you…" Bakura smirked to himself as he walked into his bedroom and collapsed onto the bed.

"No…I don't mind…do you want me to sleep on the couch?"

Bakura stared at him. Marik was beautiful, but sometimes didn't exactly come across as all that bright. "No, Marik…I want you to sleep in my bed."

"I don't want to kick you out of your own bed though…"

Bakura stared at him and sighed deeply.

"No, Marik…let me rephrase this. I want you to sleep in my bed. With me in it."

"Oh…OH!" Marik's face turned red with the realization. "Right…sorry…"

Bakura smirked and shook his head. "Just get changed. Your clothes are covered in blood and Chinese food."

Marik looked down at his clothes, seeming to notice the stains for the first time. "Do you have a—"

"You know where the laundry room is." Bakura watched as Marik walked out and went to the laundry room. Bakura stood and changed into pajama bottoms and a different shirt before climbing back into bed. Moments later, Marik returned wearing a black tank top and purple plaid pants. Bakura let his eyes wander before holding up the blanket to allow Marik under. They lay facing each other for a moment, eyes studying the other's face carefully.

"How long will you let me stay here?" Marik asked.

Bakura hesitated, not sure he was ready to admit how drawn to the boy he seemed to be. Bakura let out a heavy sigh. "As long as you like."

"Okay…"

"Okay…" Bakura repeated, watching Marik close his eyes. He looked peaceful. Bakura looked away quickly and rolled over, trying to figure out in his mind what it was about the boy that seemed to captivate him.

_**A/N**: I forgot to say before what should be painfully obvious. I DO NOT OWN YU-GI-OH! OR MARIK AND BAKURA. Okay, thank you. Now I shall not be sued! _


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The next morning, Bakura slowly came into the waking world as the fresh rays of sun from a new day crept in through the small window on the far wall. Eyes still shut tight, he suddenly became aware of something warm against his chest, and something around his waist. Eyes shooting open, Bakura saw that at some point in the night, Marik had ended up in his arms and they were now holding each other. Bakura gasped and sat up. Marik stirred, completely unaware of what had just happened.

"Oh, good morning," he said, voice thick with a fading night's sleep.

"Um, yes." Bakura said, looking around the room, every where but at Marik.

"Are you…okay?" Marik asked, rubbing his eyes and sitting up slowly, propping himself up on his elbows.

"Why the bloody hell wouldn't I be?!" He snapped at Marik, not meaning to.

"I don't know! You just look like you've seen a ghost!" Marik snapped back.

Bakura sighed heavily. "Sorry…no, I'm just fine, Marik. I'm fine. How did you sleep?"

Marik paused for a moment and lay back on the bed. "Oh…great actually, now that you mention it. I haven't slept that well in months."

"Hmm, I see." Bakura mumbled, scratching his head. "Well I…I need a shower, so…just…do whatever." Bakura stood from the bed, stretching until his back popped softly, and grabbed clothes, walking to the bathroom. Once in the bathroom, he quickly turned on the shower water and stripped free from his clothes. The problem wasn't that he woke up holding Marik, the problem was that he hadn't expected it. If he'd expected it to happen, he probably wouldn't have felt so rattled.

Climbing in, the warm water felt soothing against his skin.

Marik stretched out on the bed and then jumped out, energized from his peaceful night of sleep. Curious, he began to look around the bedroom. Much like the living room, there were no photographs hung on the walls, no paintings. The window was outfitted in a set of blinds, the floor covered in a blue rug. There was a small bedside table next to the bed on the side that wasn't against the wall and across the room was the dresser. On the wall opposite the door, there was what Marik presumed to be a closet. Crossing the room, he opened the closet, taking a peek. Several items of clothing were hung neatly upon hangers, and a few pairs of shoes lined the closet floor. Then he saw the photo album. Marik bent down, picked it up and ran his hand over the smooth cover. Certainly, it couldn't hurt to take a peek, could it?

Opening the cover of the book, Marik saw pictures of a young boy, most likely Bakura, and in most pictures, there was a man and a woman with him. This pattern continued throughout the majority of the book. Toward the end, fewer of the pictures contained the couple and more started to contain a teenage boy, about the age of Bakura, maybe a year or two older. Intrigued, Marik flipped through. The last several pages were completely blank.

"What are you doing?"

Marik whipped his head around.

"Bakura…"

"Just tell me what you're doing, Marik." Bakura said, something dark in his eyes.

"I was exploring the room, and I found this…sorry…I didn't think you'd mind, Bakura."

Bakura was silent, throwing his pajamas in the laundry hamper. He crossed to the dresser and picked up a brush, pulling it through the white locks. Several minutes passed in this silence.

"Bakura…" Marik said quietly.

Bakura sat down at the end of the bed and pulled on a pair of socks. Afterward, he finally looked at Marik.

"So I suppose you want to know now, don't you?"

"I can understand if you don't want to tell me…"

"I suppose you want to find out more about me, don't you?"

"Not if you—"

"I suppose you want to hear every fucking detail. Don't you?" His voice was tense.

"Bakura—"

"When I was growing up, I was very close to my parents. They were probably the best parents anyone could hope for. They weren't strict, but I knew the rules, and they enforced them. They spent time with me, we went on vacations and holidays, we went camping, we went to the movies, they always gave me a birthday party. I was their only child. I was their world. Growing up, I always had everything I wanted. My father spoiled me and my mother babied me. I never had to worry about a thing. My parents were my best friends. Well, I grew up. I was too cool to be hanging around with mummy and daddy all the time, so I started going to parties. I met a boy. That boy became my world, even though he was really only using me, he was playing me. I know it now, I don't have a problem saying it. He was using me. Well, I decided to tell my mom that I was gay, test it out before I told my dad. When I told her, she shook her head and told me it was a phase, that it would pass. She didn't understand. Of course she didn't fucking understand. Why would she? My father started to question why I was spending so much time with this boy, so he asked about. I can hear his voice now as he tried to joke around with me: 'well son, if you're sleeping with him, I feel like I have a right to know." He laughed about it, not knowing. He had no bloody idea. So I told him. 'Yeah, I'm fucking him. What's it to you?' He laughed at me. He still thought it was a joke. No body understood me, not a soul. No one. No one except for _him_…so I thought. I thought I had it all figured out. I thought I'd run away and be with him. I was stupid, how should I know? That night, I locked myself in my room. I locked myself in my room and when my parents were sleeping, I devised a makeshift rope ladder, piled a few pillows up on the floor so I could reach, and climbed out the window. What I didn't realize was that I'd placed the pillows directly on top of the heater. I didn't care, I just wanted out. I walked over a mile to get to his house. A mile. And what the hell do I find when I get there? I find him in bed with some slut from school, some fucking…female…slut. I stood in the doorway, staring, and he looked up at me and all he could say was 'shit.' He made no effort to go after me when I left. I thought he understood me, but I was wrong. I went to the park and I sat on a bench and I just felt myself go numb. I had to go home. The walk home probably took a half an hour, maybe more. I wouldn't know, I was too numb. When I got on my street, I could tell something wasn't right. I could see smoke. I started to run. My house. It was my house. When I got there, I saw the fire truck and fire rescue just in front of the curb. I saw them carry my parents out on stretchers. No one said it directly to me, but I could overhear the paramedic say to a firefighter 'they're gone, but we're still expected to try.' Gone. Just like that, they were gone. I finally got the nerve to ask what had caused the fire, and they told me…a stack of pillows had been left over a heater in one of the bedrooms. And then I ran. I found an old, abandoned shack just in the woods, to start with, and I set up camp there for a few months. I started to steal, because there was no other way for me to survive, and I wanted to survive. Eventually, I got a part time job and moved in here…it's not enough, I still steal, but it's a roof over my head and food in my stomach."

Marik stared in stunned awe at Bakura. He hadn't meant to open wounds. Bakura sighed heavily and lay back on the bed, back to Marik.

"You know it all. That makes you the only one."

Hesitating, Marik lay beside him and cautiously wrapped his arms around him.

"Even if they didn't understand, I do. All of it."

Bakura sighed and was silent for a moment. Finally, he spoke. "Yes…I suppose you do."

Carefully, Marik kissed his cheek and pulled the blankets around them tight, holding Bakura close. If no one else, at least they understood each other.


End file.
